Playing the Field by J.M. Snyder

Author:J.M. Snyder [Snyder, J.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: JMS Books LLC
Published: 2016-06-21T00:00:00+00:00

THE END

Tee’d Off

Greg Chennault has loved the sport of golf since he was a kid, when his parents lived in a gated community with its own small course for residents. Then, Greg’s backyard butted up against the fairway. On clear days, he would lie beneath the bushes, head in his hands, and watch the graceful swings of the golfers as they played through his line of vision. Whenever his father wanted to mow the lawn, Greg’s duty was to tramp through the grass in search of errant golf balls, which he kept in a bucket behind the shed.

When he was twelve years old, he jumped the fence separating their yard from the course and trooped toward the club house, determined to get a closer look at the sport. Watching Nicklaus play on TV was one thing; feeling the springy grass under his feet and the cool breeze blow the sweat off the back of his neck quite another altogether. He stopped in mid-step to savor the feel of the sun on his arms and scalp, the scant wind across the open field, the soft crunch of footsteps on gravel and grass, the distant call of “Fore!” Closing his eyes, Greg raised his face to the sun, basking in its warmth. To his pre-teen mind, this was paradise.

A man’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “You busy here, kid? Or can I play through?”

With a start, Greg turned to find he was no longer alone—an older gentleman leaned on his nine iron, a bemused expression on his face. He nodded in greeting, tipping the brim of his cap in Greg’s direction. A bag of golf clubs lay on the ground behind him. “Do you mind?”

“What?” Greg asked. Then, realizing he was in the way, he jumped aside. “No, sorry!”

The man gave him an indulgent smile. Quietly, Greg circled around behind him, watching intently as the man squatted to set his tee in the ground. Over his shoulder, the man asked, “Can you get me a clean ball? They’re in the front pocket of my bag.”

“Where’s the one you were using?” Greg asked as he hurried to obey.

The man made an off-hand gesture in the direction of Greg’s house. “Over there somewhere.”

Brightly, Greg told him, “That’s where I live. I can go find it for you, if you want. My dad says I’m really good at finding all the stupid golf balls that wind up in our yard.”

The man laughed as he took the new ball Greg offered him. “You’re something else, kid. You like golf?” At Greg’s eager nod, the man extended one gloved hand, which Greg shook eagerly. “I’m Trevor Johns. I got a boy myself, a few years younger than you, I imagine. I hope one day he’s as into the sport as you seem to be.”

“I love golf,” Greg gushed. “This is my first time on a course. I came looking to see if they’d hire me on for something. Do you think I’m too young to get a job here?”

“Probably a little,” Mr.

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